


Turkey Day

by Cucklord



Category: Original Work
Genre: Feeding, Feeding Kink, Food, M/M, Stuffing, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22988746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cucklord/pseuds/Cucklord
Summary: Wilson Chandra thinks he's just going to visit his boyfriend's family for some dull, awkward thanksgiving. Instead, the O'Keefes present him with some strange family traditions that force him to see just how strong his stomach is.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Turkey Day

Wilson had had no reason to be worried about visiting his boyfriend’s family for Thanksgiving. Really, it had all been shaping up to be a normal, average time. Since Tim’s parents lived a couple hours’ drive out of town, they had been strategic about things. To placate Wilson’s family, they’d gone out for a nice dinner the week before, and they’d had a small Friends-giving the night before leaving.

At the time, it had seemed totally normal, but for the fact that Tim kept pushing extra mashed potatoes Wilson’s way. Tim was the bigger eater of the two for although was a smaller guy than Wilson, but stocky and well padded. His pale, freckled thunder-thighs were often a big focus in the bedroom, while Tim seemed to fawn most over Wilson’s long arms and large hands.

“Don’t hold back, it’s thanksgiving,” Tim had said, beaming as he poured gravy onto more spuds for his partner. Wilson was confused, but accepted an incoming spoon happily before chuckling.

“What’s the matter, Tim? Are you worried about having leftovers?”

Tim only smiled quietly, pushing aside some black bangs to put a kiss on the guy’s forehead, “Just enjoy the food. We wanna make sure you’re ready.” 

“Ready for what?” Wilson had asked--but he never did get an answer.

The next morning they were all packed and ready. Tim was dressed in a pale yellow sweater and deep blue jeans. The outfit did wonders to outline his soft curves and swerves--his tummy, his ass, his package. He had his hair up in a small quiff as well. Wilson was pleasantly surprised, having somehow expected something more boring for visiting family. He himself was in khakis and a red and grey flannel, with his hair tied back as simply as possible.

“Are you ready Professor Chandra?” Tim asked, using their little joke.

“Indeed, Mr. O’Keefe, all items present and correct.” He took both of their bags and shoved them into the trunk of the car. He liked doing that--taking on little tasks for Tim. It felt good to be pampering him, in a way.

“Great,” Tim got a look of only slight apprehension as they clambered into the car, Wilson pushing back the passenger seat to accommodate his long legs, “But, honey, just so you know,” Tim spoke hesitantly as he pulled out of the garage, “My family can be a bit, uh, testy?”

Wilson looked confused, “What, like they get mad easily?”

“Huh? No, no, nothing like that,” it was Tim’s turn to be confused, then, “No, I just mean they like to--Test out my boyfriends, yknow?”

“Test them--I mean, us--I mean, me out? Test out your boyfriend how?”

“It’ll be fine, honey, really,” Tim reached over to squeeze Wil’s knee, “It’s just they like to make sure you’re, well, good enough to look after me? Wait no, that--”

“Good enough to what now?” Wilson was naturally affronted.

“No, no, I didn’t phrase that right. It’s not like they actually would say you aren’t good enough, only they just want to test you a bit. It’s like...a game?” Tim tried to smile through this all.

Wilson remained unimpressed, slouching to one side in the car, “Ugh, why didn’t you tell me that they were gonna be weird and judgemental?”

“Because that’s not how it’s gonna be! I--oh damn it. It’s hard to explain but just, trust me, okay? They aren’t being assholes and it’s not a big deal, just a sort of...weird tradition.” 

Wilson made a huffing noise, but nodded. He trusted Tim, after all. If Tim said it would be fine, then it would be fine.

+++

Upon their arrival, Wilson found himself bombarded by a tide of red-headed affection. It seems they were joining in on a massive Thanksgiving already in progress. Tim’s mother, a professional-looking woman in a navy pantsuit, had been watching from the living room door with a phone in her hand. She rushed out the door, snapping the phone shut in order to greet her son’s partner.

“Oh, you must be Wilson. Our Tim has told us all about you!” Wilson could hardly reply since, despite being rather slim and small, Ms. Molly O’Keefe had quite a grip, “Come, come inside. Tim’s father is just finishing up the gravy and biscuits. The cousins will all want to say hello--oh, and Tim deary?”

Tim, it seemed, was somewhat relieved that Wilson was there to bear the brunt of his mother’s affection, “Yes, momma?”

“Your third cousins are here.”

“You mean Esther and Pam? Ah! I never get to see them!!! Sorry, honey, I just gotta--ooo!” with a kiss on Wilson’s cheek and a squeal of delight, Tim straight-up abandoned his partner to the mercies of his mother.

“Come along, dear. You must meet my dear husband. Now, just so you aren’t confused, his last name is Sullivan and yes, I did try to get him to take mine, but he said he just couldn’t give up on it. Silly, but you know how our little O’Keefe men are.” She chuckled as they swanned into the kitchen. Wilson seemed barely able to get a word in edgewise before he was introduced to three new people.

In a whirlwind conversation he was introduced to Tim’s father, a small, stocky man much like Tim himself, his brother James, and James’ girlfriend Peaches. James also had a touch of that O’Keefe stockiness, but he was built taller and thicker than his father and young brother. He had two inches on Wilson, and lord knows how many pounds. He gave Wilson a powerful handshake that had the poor guy gasping by the end.

After a whole series of more whirlwind conversations, Tim’s father said he had to go and fetch some things from the garden. Fresh radishes? For radish flowers, maybe? It was all going so fast that he just could not keep up. It all slowed down, at last, with him standing by the kitchen counter watching James stir the gravy.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, yknow?” James smirked, “Still, I thought you’d be taller. I mean, I knew you’d be skinny but you’re kinda short even.” 

“Well, I mean, I’m north of six foot, man. That’s not sho--huh?” Wilson sound himself being interrupted by James’ hand in his face holding a steaming biscuit. “What are you doing?”

“I’m offering you a biscuit,” James said, simply, “They’re best right out of the oven, and lemme tell ya, it’s a free-for-all at the table. I know it must be kinda weird seeing our crazy family. Have one, hell, have a lot. Dad won’t mind.”

Wilson was confused but surprisingly interested. James was a persuasive guy in many ways and the biscuit smelled divine. Taking it from James, he took a bite. The flakey, soft biscuit was every bit as tasty as it smelled, almost melting in his mouth. He took second and third bites quickly, finding its texture irresistible.

Soon it was gone and he was licking flakes of it off his lips, “Alright, that was a pretty good one, I’ll admit.”

James was already buttering two more, “Great, then share another with me.” 

Innocently, Wilson took a second, just happy to have found a way to bond with Tim’s weird family somehow. It was just as good as the first, and Wilson couldn’t help but get a small thrill at how much butter James had packed onto it. The warm fat squeezed out of the pillowy biscuit like juice from a peach, and almost as thick. It coated his tongue and left him dazed. For a good five seconds, he could think of nothing else, simply basking in the hot and satiating warmness of it all. 

He felt a hand on his tummy as another biscuit vanished. Was it his own, or someone else’s? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he was already starting to feel a little taut. He had only admitted to Tim once that he enjoyed being filled up. They had laughed about it, occasionally, but he’d never tried really getting fed with a man in real life. Now that James was here, Wilson felt himself getting a little carried away. He moaned softly through the biscuit in his mouth, leaning back on the counter and waiting for more. “Kee’ goin…” he tried to say.

James, for his part, looked a bit weirded out by the reaction. He stepped back, about to say something about the way Wilson was touching his gut when, all at once, Tim’s mother, father, and some combination of uncles and aunts burst in. Peaches came too, wrapping her arm about James’ thick waist.

“James, sweetie,” their father chimed in, holding a basket of delicately sliced radicchios (it seems Wilson had misheard, earlier), “It’s time to set the table.” 

“Ah, right, cmon,” james pulled Peaches along and they all began to leave the room.

Wilson, feeling like he ought to help out, but feeling a little full and sluggish, called after them all, “Hey, wait, can I help somehow?”

Drifting down the hall, Tim’s father said, “No no, son, just you wait and rest up. You’re a guest and you travelled a long way! We won’t be long! Make sure you save your appe--” and then he turned a corner.

Wilson did try to wait, at first. He was content enough. Sure, the incident with James had been uncomfortably arousing but, clearly, James hadn’t meant anything by it and, well, he and Tim were adults. Accidental attractions were known to happen. He fondly thought back to a time when Tim had been flustered by a curvy adjunct professor of statistics. What had his name been? Esteban? No, something more British. Edmund? He buttered his biscuit, taking the last bite as he tried to remember--then starting.

He looked at his hand. When had he picked up that biscuit? He had barely even noticed. He was full already and there was still dinner to have. Yet even as he thought that, he took another one, buttered, and ate it in one gulp. What was in these, crack? Well, no, obviously not. But it was some sort of hideously powerful cocktail of rosemary and cheddar that he could not resist.

Wilson scarfed down two more biscuits, then groaned. He felt something in him creaking, not to mention a heat in his groin. They were so delicious and the tight, expansive sensation in his guts made him woozy--no, sleepy. He couldn’t cope. Taking two last biscuits with him, he leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. 

As he sat, his shifting posture made his jeans and shirt fit differently very fast. Sticking one biscuit in his mouth to hold (that didn’t last, it was gone in a moment) he popped his jeans button and moaned in relief. His tum was starting to peak out from under his button-up, but thankfully it was holding. He could get through dinner if he just tucked it right, couldn’t he? 

The sudden thought of his shirt popping open at dinner made him first worried, then aroused, then worried about being aroused. It was very stressful. He ate the other biscuit to calm down--then immediately regretted it. It felt so good going down and entering him, and he felt so (he had to admit it) sexy and round with all of this gut hanging out, but he had to keep himself under control. After all, what would Tim say if he walked in right now and found him, his nice, polite boyfriend, with greasy hands and tray’s worth of biscuits in his distended stomach?

Then Tim walked in, immediately answering the hypothetical question: “Wilson? Are you in h--Wilson!!! What in the name of Harvey Fierstein are you doing?”


End file.
